Roses
by Bablefisk
Summary: Hermione has pulled her own life up with the root to go with Fleur to Paris, but when she finds 15 roses, she sees that nothing is as she thought.


Hermione locked herself into the apartment, putting the keys on the table next to the door. They had decided to live in the Muggle part of Paris, seeing as it was more practical for the both of them. A month had passed by since they moved from England, and so far Hermione hadn't regretted it one bit.

She and Fleur had gotten together a year before, three years after the final battle, and a year after the marriage between Bill and Fleur went bad and they split up. No one had told Hermione what happened, and Hermione didn't think anyone except Bill, Charlie and Fleur knew all the details.

Sometimes, when Hermione thought about it, she felt as if she was ensnared by a spider in its net, unable to get away even if she wished so. Not that she did. Tonight was their one year anniversary, and Hermione had the whole night planned out. Fleur had been really busy with work and such for the last three weeks, and Hermione hadn't seen her that much, so she was looking forward to this evening. She herself had decided not to work at the moment, an idea Fleur had, and it left her with plenty of time to read her beloved books. And it had given her time to learn French without Fleur knowing, wanting to surprise Fleur with it when she knew it properly. As always her brilliant mind picked up fast, and she didn't have far to go.

As Hermione prepared the apartment for the evening, lighting candles and finding the right music, she hummed to herself. She was trying to ignore the little knot that had been building in her stomach for the last few weeks. She kept blaming it on a sickness and tried to ignore it completely. But she couldn't. The problem was that she didn't understand the knot, and was afraid that if she started thinking about it, she would. And that would bring a whole deal of problems.

Two and a half hours later, and the knot had grown. Fleur was late. Again. She hadn't been home on the evenings for days, and always snuck in when Hermione slept. Hermione had told her to make it home today, that this day was important, and Fleur had promised to be there on time. That time past two hours ago.

As the time creped closer to two hours and a quarter, she made up her mind and made her way to the Floo. She was going to go to Fleur's office and drag her home.

As she came out in the well known office, it was dark all around her, and as she opened Fleur's office door, she knew there were no one there. She sighed and was about to close the door when she noticed some roses standing on the desk. More curious than anything else, she looked for a card in between them, and found one stuck to one of the roses. She pulled out the card and lit up the room with her wand to be able to read it properly. The words were in French, but she understood them all, and they shocked her too the core.

_My dear Fleur_

_Fifteen roses; one for each day we get to spend together. _

_Thank you for last night, I can't wait to have you again tonight_

_All my Love_

_L_

Hermione felt the knot explode inside her, and suddenly all the signs her subconsciousness had taken in became clear to her. The late evenings. The strange smells of foreign perfume. The phone calls Fleur 'had' to take outside the room. And as it hit her, the tears slowly made their way down her chin.

She had been caught, just like a fly in the spiders net, just sitting there, waiting to be eaten. But she had finally understood, and know she would get free. She would not fight the net any longer, but rather cut it off herself.

She went to their apartment, but as she stepped in to the living room, she knew it wasn't home any more. She packed her things. Knowing Fleurs habit by now, she knew she still had hours. So she took everything that was hers, leaving not a clue that she had ever been in the apartment. Luckily she still had her apartment in England, and she Flooed everything back there. When she was finished, she looked around before Flooing home to England, blocking the fireplace behind her. The only trace left of their relationship was the life growing in her womb and the one long-stemmed rose on the bed, a card attached to it in French.

_One rose; for the one year I let you fool me._

_Never more_

_H_


End file.
